


to sit outside your door

by singingtomysoul



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Courtship, Deleted Scenes, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 11:31:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19150156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingtomysoul/pseuds/singingtomysoul
Summary: It's 1809. Somewhere in Soho, Mr. A.Z. Fell has opened up a bookshop.Inspired by the deleted TV scene of Crowley bringing chocolates to the opening of Aziraphale's bookshop.Crowley decides to express some affection. Then reality ensues.





	to sit outside your door

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the deleted scene of the TV series that falls between the Reign of Terror, and the discussion about the holy water. You can find it here: https://dykeiel.tumblr.com/post/185109464777/this-has-the-scene-where-crowley-brings-chocolates
> 
> Title is from Hozier's 'From Eden'.

It’s 1809. Somewhere in Soho, Mr. A.Z. Fell has opened up a bookshop.

And Crowley feels an unexpected surge of pride. Aziraphale’s been talking about the thing for years, and the Reign of Terror shouldn’t have waylaid him for _so_ long. Crowley suspects he doesn’t actually want to sell anything. He’d flatter himself to believe he’s rubbing off on the angel, but of course Aziraphale’s perfectly (delightfully) capable of being greedy without him.

They’ve gotten closer, since Paris. Crowley heard the naked joy in the angel’s voice when he’d appeared in that damp little cell, all ready for a heroic rescue. Aziraphale has to _know_ by now, doesn’t he? That Crowley doesn’t just turn up by sheer coincidence anymore? At first it was more convenience, calling on his friend for a favor, setting up their little agreements (it doesn’t yet have a capital A, but Crowley suspects that’s a matter of time). 

But it’s less lonely, when Aziraphale’s there. Food tastes better (when Crowley eats), and wine certainly does. He laughs, in ways that have nothing to do with mischief or sin, but that sometimes feel better than both. He’s always _fancied_ the angel, and to think that’s not a mutual temptation - well, he’d have to be blind. But that’s second to a kind of happiness he never imagined for himself, not until now. “It is not good for man to be alone.” They’re not men, strictly speaking, but even so. Even after all these centuries, Crowley feels like he could sit with Aziraphale to the end of the-

For the foreseeable future.

He ought to do something for Aziraphale. Nothing big. Nothing _suspicious_. Just a little kindness wouldn’t hurt, the sort of thing that would really delight the angel for just how small it was. And besides, he was owed a housewarming gift, of sorts. Fortunately, he’s a being of very specific tastes, and at least some of those tastes aren’t so ridiculous Crowley can’t pick them out. 

He won’t want it miracled up. Aziraphale’s always going on about how it never tastes the same.

\---

A few days of casual hunting later, just in time for the grand opening, Crowley has the perfect chocolates in a small black box with a gold ribbon. He’s written in a card on the outside. (They both can appreciate a good bit of calligraphy; some style is universal.)

_Angel,_

_Congratulations on the opening. Hope you don’t sell a single copy._

_Don’t you dare eat all these without me. I’ve got a good bottle of red for them._

He’d paused, then added in a moment of bravery:

_You tempt me to kindness._

_\- Crowley_

He brings the little box to opening day, just before lunch, which he’s sure the angel will be open to sharing. Someone else is already there.

Crowley doesn’t remember Heaven, when he’s spent most of his life apart from it. The Fall tends to drive a lot of it out of your head, in the sheer refusal to think about things. But Crowley remembers Gabriel. Big, broad-shouldered bastard. Eyes so beautiful they hurt, and not in the romantic sense. The kind of light that doesn’t let off one degree of heat (and a serpent would know).

Humans do so much worse to each other than Heaven or Hell can come up with, but with all that pleasant _disregard_ , Crowley suspects Gabriel could come close.

“But only I can properly thwart the wiles of the demon Crowley.”

Crowley frowns. He tries to tell himself he can’t feel his stomach drop when he hasn’t actually got one.

“…whoever replaces you will be as good an enemy to Crowley as you are. Michael, perhaps.”

 _Michael?_ He tries to imagine having talked to _Michael_ in the Garden, smug and buttoned-up, like they’re one big _sneering_ -

“Crowley’s been down here just as long as I have. And he’s wily, and cunning and brilliant, and oh…”

Crowley flashes Aziraphale a grateful look, that he’s not sure the angel sees. He makes the universal signal for ‘I’ll ring you later,’ and disappears before Sandalphon can sniff him out, the little toady.

\---

In the end, things work out, of course.

Aziraphale doesn’t display his medal anywhere, and Crowley doesn’t bring it up. They enjoy fine chocolate and wine in the back room of the shop, taking turns choosing music for the phonograph. Crowley tries not to think of how, if Heaven has taken notice of things, Hell may not be far behind. And Hell is a much more suspicious beast.

It’s still a wonderful time. He’ll be damned if he’s not going to have a wonderful time, and give Aziraphale the same. He’d decided a long time ago that fear wasn’t going to stop him.

But he burns the note.


End file.
